Lost Loves and Old Movie Houses

He loved to walk around the city. Each time he rounded a corner or stumbled on a new landmark, Kafea would take it all in as if he’d just been dropped off from La Guardia.

Five years earlier, Kafea had abruptly swapped his surfboard for a pen. The day he told his folks he wanted to be a writer, the waves on Haleiwa Beach were massive, making them wonder if he’d just hit his head.

“Why do you need to go all the way to New York to write?” they asked.

“It’s what you do,” was all he could think to say.

One of his favorite places was a movie house called, Grover Square Cinemas on Broadway. He took pride in seeing films where things didn’t need to blow up, or one car needed to chase another. Of course, he didn’t particularly mind when it happened but preferred what he considered “movies with culture.”

The theater itself had been around since the 70s. Envisioning what the art house cinema looked like back then required absolutely no imagination. It was as it had always been, which was exactly why Kafea and many others found it so endearing.

One evening as he was waiting for his movie to start, he struck up a conversation with an elderly man who claimed to be 90 years old.

“Have you seen this movie?” he asked, pointing to the film’s poster.

“I’m going to see it today,” Kafea told him.

“I’ve seen it four times,” he beamed. “It’s beautiful. If not for movies I’d have no reason to live.”

Despite being nearly 70 years the man’s junior, Kafea found his proclamation less tragic than relatable. He’d lost count of the number of times he too had sat in the back row of that theater alone in every conceivable way.

It was stories that had breathed life back into a spirit that was again and again on the verge of flatlining.

There was a beautiful girl about Kafea’s age who worked in the ticket booth. She always smiled when she saw him, which was something Kafea knew she didn’t do to everyone.

Invariably, they’d talk about the movies playing and maybe the weather. The exchanges were brief and sometime abruptly cut short by an impatient patron or hovering manager.

But regardless of the breadth or prose of their exchange, Kafea always ended by saying, “It was nice seeing you.”

He usually sat in a haze during the first 10 minutes of the coming attractions. All he could think about was the girl. From the trivial to the poetic he wanted to know all about her.

Where was her accent from?

How tall was she?

Did she even like movies?

What were her dreams?

Was she happy?

Kafea never asked her name, if she cared to grab a coffee, or even a movie for that matter. Strangely, it wasn’t from a lack of courage but the fear of ruining the fantasy of two people who liked each other despite not knowing a thing about one another.

Maybe that was the reason, Kafea thought.

Either way, it was a possibility Kafea was far too delicate to disprove.

As the years went on, Kafea returned again and again to Grover Square until one day neither the theater or the girl were there anymore. The building’s owner had apparently decided not to renew the space.

Kafea stood in a daze staring blankly at an empty marquee. The place looked as though it had been deserted altogether. Several other moviegoers walked up reading a handwritten sign placed where the film’s posters were normally housed.

It read, It is with a very heavy heart we announce Grover Square Cinemas will no longer be in business. We want to thank everyone for their patronage and support over the years, and especially now as we go through this very difficult time.”

Almost on cue, Kafea saw the same old man who he’d spoken to years before standing in a trance near the old entrance. He marveled not at the fact the two had stumbled on the news the same day, but that the man was still alive.

The gentlemen’s head was down and his shoulders were slumped. Kafea watched him carefully, knowing the theater’s demise would soon lead to his.

When the old man slowly shuffled off, Kafea looked back up at the blank marquee envisioning the showtimes for the movie he’d planned on seeing. He thought briefly what other theaters might be screening the film before abandoning the idea.

Now, he stood alone peering through the empty ticket booth window.

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